


stars in blessings, and vice versa

by tenkaede



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Oumota Day 2020, Post-Canon, Sharing an apartment, vr au probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24231655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenkaede/pseuds/tenkaede
Summary: And Ouma wants to say,Well, if stars are a blessing, then Momota-chan is a galaxy. I want you to come back to bed so I can run my fingers over Momota-chan’s skin. I wanna trace along the marks of Momota-chan’s skin to make constellations. I want to know what Momota-chan thinks of everything.[ For Oumota Day, and the prompt 'stars' ]
Relationships: Momota Kaito/Oma Kokichi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 76





	stars in blessings, and vice versa

Momota says he doesn’t leave to watch the stars in the night, and Ouma says that he doesn’t hear him leave. 

But they’re both dirty liars, of course. Rotting to the core from the inside-out, apples with a fine skin but browned everywhere else. Bruising what they touch, if they’re unlucky, and Ouma is a very unlucky person. They just haven’t bruised eachother, yet. 

Momota nudges Ouma’s shoulder, and only a liar could pretend to sleep so well. He notes the way that Momota walks out of the room - with a forced stiffness and a desperate quiet, but he was never the one to be sneaky. It could rouse anyone from their sleep, if they were in the same room.

Ouma knows the next moves like the back of his own hand. He can count down the seconds until the footsteps pause, and has memorized the sound of the sliding door opening onto their balcony. It’s a quiet thing, dulled by the walls between them, but unmistakable in the suffocating silence. 

Normally, Ouma would leave it be. Keep his rot to himself and sink into the mattress, resigning to feel Momota’s warmth again in the morning. Keep his tongue still, and wrap himself in the silence. Keep his eyes shut, and only open them when he knows there’s going to be another presence there.

His eyes open. He clicks his tongue. He sits up, and, after minutes of staring at the wall, he slides from the bed.

Unlike Momota, he is well-practiced in shifting his weight over the floor perfectly, and unlike Momota, he’s not a big lump. Ouma can’t hear the sound of his own footsteps, and it makes him seem more ghost than human, but there’s no point in giving himself away so quickly. 

And Momota doesn’t notice him approaching, anyway. 

The balcony is lined with plants, thriving under Momota’s care. He likes how dependent they are, Ouma knows. He likes that without his care, they’ll die. He likes that they won’t rot unless he lets them (but he would never let them. Ouma knows that, too). He likes seeing the fruits of his work, in the blooming flowers and the green of their leaves, vibrant and pleasant all the same.

Ouma likes them, too, but he’ll never say it. 

He opens the door to the balcony, and Momota startles.

“Kokichi,” he says, whirling around to face his unexpected newcomer. “Didn’t know I woke you up, I--” 

Ouma takes the liberty of interrupting him, hands folded behind his back. “Momota-chan, aren’t you cold?”

At least he’s wrapped himself in a sleeping gown, but the bite of a cold night can get through anything. Ouma can keep his own shivering to a minimum, and Momota can lie if he wants to, but they’ll both be able to recognize the truth. 

Momota runs a hand around the back of his neck - belatedly, Ouma realizes through the darkness that his hair is down, free of shitty gel or a tie - and, instead of answering, offers his other hand. Strange. There’s an aura of guilt coming from him in waves. 

But Ouma would be a dirty little hypocrite if he tried to point out everything that Momota’s tried to hide. 

The hand is taken without any hesitation, and, gently, Momota pulls him close. It’s situations like this where Ouma doesn’t mind their height difference, in which the large boy is such a warm presence around him. He rests the back of his head against Momota’s chest, and lets the much bigger arms wrap around him.

If Momota had tried something like this when they had first woken from the game, Ouma would have panicked. Now, though? Something like this is a comfort, and Momota knows it. 

“So,” Ouma says, as Momota’s chin presses against his head. “Whatcha doing, Momota-chan? I nearly froze to death without you to keep me warm in bed.” 

“You have a blanket,” Momota says, slightly rocking them both on the spot. “If it only takes that to get you to freeze, then I guess I better keep holding onto you, right?” 

“It was a lie. If Momota-chan leaving makes me freeze, then I would’ve been dead before tonight. Buuuut, you should stay like this, anyway, ‘cause you never know. Maybe  _ that  _ was the real lie!” It’s the closest thing Ouma can get to the confirmation that yes, this is good, he likes this. “And you never answered my question.” 

There’s a pause before Momota’s voice graces his ears again. The faint sound of an ambulance accompanies the rustle of wind, but where the ground below their apartment is full of bright light, it reflects in the night sky, too.

“It clears my head, being out here.” There’s an inhale. “I know, I know, it’s probably stupid, to go along with Team Danganronpa’s fucking talent for me--” 

Ouma says, “it’s not stupid.” 

“Alright. Then, it’s - I’m just…” Momota hums. “No matter how hard I try, it’s just… I don’t think my love of space is ever gonna go away, y’know? I don’t want it to. And I don’t want it to be a Team Danganronpa thing, but it doesn’t really feel like a me thing, either.” 

There’s no interrupting, this time. Momota ‘I’m the hero and I don’t have to tell anybody about my problems’ Kaito is something that Ouma knows well, and to hear the confessions flowing from his mouth is a sign of trust that he’ll have to do his best not to infect with rot. 

“But I still think… I think - I don’t know. Do you still think about leading people, Kokichi?” 

“Yeah,” Ouma says, and it isn’t a lie. “I mean, it totally sucks learning that the family of clowns you lead was fake after all, so I think about being the leader of a new organization all the time! Momota-chan’s a dummy if he thinks that thinking about the stars is banned, or something. ‘Specially since all we saw in the simulation was fake stars.” 

“Yeah. Guess you’re right.” Momota lifts his chin from Ouma’s head, and one hand comes up to run fingers through his hair. It’s nice. “Having a place where we can see the sky clearly is pretty great. They’re a blessing.” 

And Ouma wants to say, 

_ Well, if stars are a blessing, then Momota-chan is a galaxy. I want you to come back to bed so I can run my fingers over Momota-chan’s skin. I wanna trace along the marks of Momota-chan’s skin to make constellations. I want to know what Momota-chan thinks of everything.  _

Instead, he says, “then come back to bed, you stargazing loser. They’re still gonna be there when it’s not the middle of the night. Momota-chan can still think in the morning.” He tilts his head upwards. Takes in the sight of Momota illuminated by only the moon’s rays. “Unless Momota-chan’s brain only turns on when it’s night? That would make a lot of sense!” 

“Wha- hey!” The hand in Ouma’s hair turns rough, and jostles him a little. Not enough to hurt, but just enough to warrant sticking out a tongue at him. “Alright, alright, you little shit. If you’re going to be rude for no reason, I guess I’ll go along with what you say.”

“That’s not very hero-like of you, Momota-chan. Just following a villain’s demands like that?”

“You’re not a villain,” Momota scoffs. Whether he’s painfully oblivious to the lengths of Ouma’s rot, or whether he tries to tell himself that it doesn’t exist, it’s still unclear. 

Ouma wriggles from Momota’s grip, careful not to knock into any plants and ignoring the bite of the cold that rushes in to replace the heat of his body. “Then come back to bed with me.” Now, it’s his turn to hold out a hand. 

And now, it’s his hand that is accepted. “I already agreed to that, didn’t I?” 

That he did. Ouma stays silent when he leads Momota back through the darkness, and remains that way until he reaches the bedroom. There’s nothing that needs to be said. Maybe they’ll talk more in the morning, or maybe by then the walls will be back up. Maybe Momota will apologize for opening up, and maybe Ouma will lie about how great it is for a hero to spill his thoughts like that, while wishing he would do it more. 

Maybe Ouma will be glad that, even when he’s a rotting dirty liar, he’s never been able to spread more rot to Momota than what he’s already done to himself. 

And they settle in bed, in tangled limbs that will never be acknowledged, but Momota only asks one question. 

“You know I’ve been doing this for a while.” It isn’t a question. “Why didn’t you come out to see me before, Kokichi?” 

There’s no answer to it. Ouma pretends to be asleep, and Momota lets him. 

**Author's Note:**

> you can have little a m/m... as a treat 
> 
> (and then another, once saimota week comes literally right after this)


End file.
